It's No Picnic: Slytherin Study Group 3
by rabbit and -v-Jinx-v
Summary: There's just not room enough in this bed for the both of us!
1. Chapter 1

rabbit: Oh, looky, all the Halloween things are out in the stores now. Shall we give them a Trick, or a Treat?

Jinx: "Or?"

AN: Spoilers for book six.

(If ewe are confused start with SSG #1 "Stuck" and proceed from there…)

* * *

SSG 3.0 

You know what they say about Fifth Year...

**It's No Picnic**

Dawn gilded the churning surface of the lake and the lashing tentacles of the Giant Squid as it briskly swam 50 laps to start the day; the exuberant young sun playfully crowned the venerable crenellations of Hogwarts with shining diadems and draped the knurled towers in cloth o' gold.

The last tower to see the light was Slytherin Tower, a small but clever piece of work which was overshadowed nearly to the point of vanishment amongst its bolder, grander fellows. Only its top three floors and bristling sea-urchin's cap showed aboveground; Slytherin had crafted the tower in support of the school, whilst all the while insisting vehemently that one shouldn't build anything from which one wouldn't survive the fall.

Within what was arguably the ground floor of the Slytherin Dormitory, deep inside a dusty-curtained bed crammed nearly full of even-dustier books so that scarcely any room remained for its sleeping occupant, the Blazing Budgerigar uplifted its head and made a joyful noise unto everything within a 4.3-mile radius.

Severus Snape jolted awake and frantically aimed hushing swats at the burning bird, which only added Grace notes to its song as it trillingly eluded his hands and spiraled sparkling out through the narrow crawlspace which presented the only way out of this private collection.

Snape watched it go and presumed, when total mayhem did not commence, that the bird had not awakened his roommates.

Of course, Crabbe and Goyle wouldn't wake up for anything less than breakfast... and Lucius Malfoy, putting a rash abundance of faith in his shiny new Prefect's badge, had soundproofed his black velvet bedcurtains.

Severus retrieved his own Prefect's badge from beneath his pillow, and pinned it to his pyjama shirt for safekeeping as he sorted through the books strewn all about him, selecting those texts which would be most useful for perusal in the Great Hall before and during breakfast.

Clutching a half-dozen tomes, he ottered 'round with the dexterity of a hopeless swot, so that he could use the crawlway to get out of bed.

A blonde girl in a blue bathrobe graced with a Prefect's badge was huddled trembling atop the rumpled quilts. Her hair was wet and she seemed strangely luminous, like an Angel tumbled to Earth. She met Snape's eyes and what had been silent weeping turned into a squall.

Snape froze.

There was **_Absolutely No Explanation Whatsoever_** for this situation. Narcissa Beauregard (_née_ Black, she had dropped the name after her wretched cousin had had the _Bad Luck_ to be **_Sorted into Gryffindor_** and the _Worse Form_ to gleefully embrace his fate) should have been in the Girls' Dormitory. Or in the Common Room. Or Anywhere Else on Earth but **_Here_**.

She looked at Snape and wept even more violently, which was astonishing.

He wished she would stop.

It was very unfair of her to turn up in his bed and just sit there crying, while he couldn't move or breathe or think of anything that wouldn't get him slapped halfway to next Christmas.

Which was nothing compared to what Lucius would do if he found his **_Fiancée_** in another Wizard's bed.

All the blood surged back into Sev's heart, restarting it with an alarming heave that made him gasp and now Narcissa was looking at him and he wondered how she could cry like that and still look so pretty and he realized in a panic that she was **_Waiting for Me to Say Something_**.

He tried four times before he could squeak, "Alright, Narcissa?"

She sniffled protractedly, and flung herself prone, clutching at his pyjama sleeves and emitting a most alarming caterwaul.

Sev thanked God sincerely for Lucius's soundproofed bedcurtains. And then he realized that sooner or later, Malfoy would arise to begin his day, and leave that silent sanctuary --

Snape dropped the books he'd been clutching, and reached down and caught her wrists and shook Narcissa, a little, because he couldn't think what else to do, and hissed, _"Sssssh!"_

His effect was similar to that a garter snake might have in warning off a cloudburst. She wailed louder and wetter.

Sev ootched himself into the far corner of the bed and hid behind a very thick book which he opened and tried to read.

After he'd read the same paragraph six times without understanding it, he wondered how he could see to read since the Blazing Budgerigar had gone and he hadn't dared take up his wand. (Which was wise, as a simple _Lumos _spell would probably have resulted in a conflagration given his present state of mind.) He blinked in the whitegolden light and very nervously concluded that Narcissa was _glowing_.

He hoped this didn't mean she was pregnant.

He hoped she wasn't going to blame it on him.

She turned her sparkling blue gaze on him and sniffled solicitously, "All right, Sev?"

Maybe she was _Answering the Moon's Call_. From his admittedly limited study of that subject, and those subjected to it, he had deduced that Witches apparently just lost their minds by the light of the waxing Moon, and wandered around crying a lot and eating half their bodyweight in chocolate --

Sev dropped the book and scrabbled at the wall of tomes behind his pillow, yanking loose a small box ornamented with fussy little flowers. He heaved this towards Narcissa, and as it landed atop the quilts the lid popped off, revealing several chocolates nestled in frilly cups amidst a great many empty wrappers.

All of them were coconut but Narcissa didn't seem to mind. She fell upon them like a vixen emptying a nest of fieldmice.

Sev was very, very afraid.

He sneaked his wand out from beneath his pillow, and clung onto it with both hands white-knuckled.

The sounds of _Devouring _sent shivers down his spine (and elsewhere) but at least this was better than the operatic crying.

He wondered if garlic or silver or salt or pepper would help.

The last chocolate vanished and Narcissa sat back with a long sigh, and used her wand to pin up her damp hair in a fetching twist, and produced a daintily-embroidered handkerchief with which she erased the tearstains and chocolate smears from her radiant visage.

Sev wished to God she'd either _Leave Right Now_ or **_Come Over Here_**.

Instead, she said with an importunate pout, "Lucius doesn't listen to me."

Sev wondered why she was dragging Lucius into this.

With a sigh which could have commenced a _film noir _she went on: "Ever since he became a Prefect," which was all of a week ago, "he doesn't seem to hear a word I say to him! He's all, oh, I dunno, _Drunk With Power_, or something!"

The pretty blonde Witch was talking about being drunk. The pretty blonde Witch was talking to _him_. The pretty blonde Witch was in his **_bed _**—

Like claws on a chalkboard came her accusing query: "_Are **you** listening to me_!"

Sev stared at her, heart hammering against his ribs. He had been listening, yes, but she looked_ furious_.

... in the sense of the original Furies, who had talons in which to hold their grudges tightly.

After a very long and perilous pause at the edge of his life, Snape offered in desperate apology, "I'm sorry, I just woke up and I haven't had my coffee."

She folded her arms and _Waited_.

Sev nervously rummaged in the wall of books behind his pillow, hauled open a hidden panel and reached into the nook beyond with shaking hands to set the coffee a-brewing in its _bijou_ cauldron.

He made enough for two. The warm, cozy scent cast him into an intriguing _reverie_ involving himself and Narcissa hidden away in a lavish flat in Paris overlooking the _Tour Eiffel_, which they had failed to notice for three days altogether --

**_"Sev!"_** Something smacked him upside the head. He thought it might be the lettuce from the sack of groceries the House Elves had just brought from the market square.

Narcissa said razor-sharply, **_"The coffee's ready_."**

Sev hastily unstuck the Advanced Potion-Making textbook from his hair, and stashed it beneath his pillow. He poured the coffee into the mug Siouxsie Sinistra had given him yesterday, which supposedly reminded her of him: it was black, illustrated with an anxious but fluffy white rabbit above the inscription, **_Doomed Bunny_**.

He added a generous dollop of _créme de menthe_ and a half-cup helping of sugared cocoa powder to the mixture, stirred it widdershins with a silver spoon and passed it quickly to Narcissa, nervously avoiding her claws. He poured black coffee into his old, cracked, even blacker mug which as it heated evidenced the words**_: I am the Dark Lord and you will do nothing without my influence_**.

Sev laced his drink liberally with blackstrap molasses, stirred it briskly deosil with a length of dried sunflower stalk, and promptly gulped down half the brew at a go.

"So," demanded Narcissa, as she finished draining her mug with one long greedy draught, "what are you going to do about it?"

"Uh?" choked Sev.

"About _Lucius,_" she stressed through bared white teeth. To make him_ listen to me."_

Snape had no idea. He clutched his half-empty mug to his chest, as if it might shield him somehow from her wrath.

Narcissa challenged, "There must be _some_ kind of **_potion_**."

After a prolonged pause, Snape stammered nervously, "L-love potions d-don't work like that." He blushed puce and muttered, "Actuallytheydon'tworkatallthewayyou'dthink."

She stared at him with her bright blue eyes for a long minute and then charged him, "Well, **_Brew_** something."

She seemed to be _Waiting_ for some response to this and so he squeaked at last: "--what?"

"_You're_ the Resident Swot," she snipped. "Make yourself useful. Brew something that will make Lucius **_listen to me."_**

Some primal instinct of self-preservation stifled the "but" before he could lend it voice.

She purred, "Come on, Sev, do it for me... or I'll stay in here 'til Lucius wakes up, and when he sees me leaving your bed, he'll hex you into next year," she threatened, "where you will arrive without a single O.W.L. to your credit."

With his grades flashing before his eyes, Snape nodded frantically, spilling coffee onto the quilts as he yelped urgently, "Yes! Alright! I mean I'll do whatever you want, just please Go!"

"Alright," she breathed, and handed back her empty coffee mug. A tiny blue spark leapt from her hand to his, shocking him only a little less than her minxish wink as she said clearly, "Remember you promised!" She knelt before the crawlspace and vanished like a princess imprisoned by Chung Ling Soo.

In the cloying silence left in her stead, Sev tried to remember how to breathe, and struggled desperately not to dwell upon the fact that he'd just begged the only girl ever to grace his bed to **_leave_**.

It really was too much to face before having finished the _First Cup of the Day_ and careless of his racing heart, he drank the rest of his coffee in one great glug.

It helped, just a little.

As he poured rather a lot of rum into his Second Cup of the Day, he couldn't help wondering agitatedly just what he'd gotten himself into _**This **Time..._


	2. Chapter 2

_Jinx: _(sends bottle of fine wine and sincerest compliments to Mr. Gambon and Mr. Rickman over at the corner table)

_rabbit:_ (sends along a basket of chocolate chip cookies, too)

_Jinx: _(shakes head in amazement) "So, let me get this straight... there are still some hapless souls who are suffering from the notion that _Snape is an Evil Murdering Traitor Because **HE KILLED DUMBLEDORE!"**_

_rabbit: _"...well, yes. Apparently."

_Jinx: _"Right, that's what I'm saying... **_Apparently."_** (winks) "But you know what they say about phoenixes... "

_rabbit: _"Fascinating creatures... they can carry immensely heavy loads, their tears have healing powers, and they make highly _faithful_ pets... and can make a **_Mercy Dash_ **in the middle of the night unto the middle of London into the mazy corridors of the Ministry of Magic _In the Nick of Time_ to gallantly **_Eat Flaming Green Death_** in order to save Dumbledore's hide... "

_Jinx: _"...but in the next book, somehow, Fawkes can't manage to haul his tinder-kindling tailfeathers out a seventh-floor window and just up a little ways to the top of the Astronomy Tower, to enact an identical rescue when the Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher demonstrates the expected, job-related aberrant behavior? Riiiiiight... "

_rabbit: _"...and Dumbledore's last words are, 'Severus… Severus, please...' Not 'Stop,' not 'Wait,' not 'Don't... ' "

_Jinx: _(merrily) "Dumbledore's familiar is a _what-? _And the bird's name is pronounced _how-?"_

**Happy Holidaze **

**from us two foxes to Albus and Severus (who have a lot of Work to do) **

**and of course to all of you!**

_rabbit and Jinx_

_guzzling eggnog and scarfing chocolate chip cookies_

_

* * *

_

**It's No Picnic**

**Chapter 2**

On Saturday morning, the upper floors of the Slytherin Dormitory were very quiet.

This was fortunate for Severus Snape, who was_Simply Exhausted_from a First Week spent striving with every fiber of his being to excel in his upcoming O.W.L.S. whilst attending assiduously to his new Prefect's duties _and _anxiously trying to alleviate Narcissa's persistent distress. He had worked himself into such a state that he had grudgingly allowed himself the luxury of sleeping four whole hours and so didn't stir (or mince, or strain) 'til seven.

He felt a little better when he woke– less abstractly doomed– and prised his face out of the text he'd been studying, and yawned, and stretched to shake off the rest of the books with which he'd spent Friday night–

–and froze.

A blond boy in a black bathrobe graced with a Prefect's badge was settled comfortably atop the rumpled quilts, leafing through a battered copy of _Advanced Potion-Making._

Lucius Malfoy glanced up from his reading and fixed a jackal's gaze on Snape.

Who thought muzzily, _My situation has not improved._

"Good morning," Lucius said lightly. "Sleep well?"

**_Why me!_** thought Sev, as he nodded dazedly.

Lucius smiled. "Good."

Sev thought in an outright panic: **_Oh, NO._**

"Why don't you make coffee," Lucius commanded, "and we'll have a little chat."

In a haze of terror, Sev fumbled at the wall of books behind his pillow, until he managed to haul open a hidden compartment mostly filled by a _bijou_ cauldron which he hastily set a-brewing. Forcing himself to keep his back turned nonchalantly upon Lucius, he struggled to _Stay Focused_ on his surroundings and could find no comfort in the sublime scent of Jamaican Blue coffee, although he supposed it was a _Good Start_ to a **_Last Meal._**

Behind him, Lucius languidly flipped pages. Now and again, Malfoy let out an interested murmur.

A kind of bright, white light filled Snape's skull and coalesced into a sort of jellyfish-thing, which drifted down into his belly, where it felt just... _Icky. _There was no other word for it. It put Snape in mind of a bright, July day, shadowless and stark, in which there was no place to hide–

Sev froze like a squirrel on tarmac as he realized: **_He knows._** His heart tripped over itself most unpleasantly. **_Lucius knows all about me and Narcissa._**

Strictly speaking, this would have constituted a miracle, because Snape didn't understand it **_At All... _**and yet here he was, _About to Disappear from the Face of the Earth,_ just because a pretty blonde Witch had looked at him with tears shining in her bright blue eyes, pleading–

**"Sev,"** warned Lucius, "the coffee's boiling."

Snape jumped, and hastily took up a silver spoon bearing the Malfoy family crest, which he used to half-fill one mug with refined cocoa powder; he added to this three drops of the **_Good_** French vanilla extract and a generous splash of coffee, before filling the cup nearly to the brim with _creme de menthe._ He stirred this mixture carefully and then popped open another panel in the wall of tomes, from which he retrieved a heaping handful of miniature marshmallows from a ten-pound sack which was nearly empty.

If he lived to see Tomorrow, he'd have to send for a fifty-pound sack; thus far, he hadn't found anything else the Blazing Budgerigar would eat (and, to his horror, he had discovered that it would drink nothing but the **_Best_** vodka). At least the gooey treats shut the shimmering songbird up for entire minutes at a time, and now Sev hoped irrationally as he passed Lucius his snowcapped beverage that the marshmallows might have a similarly quieting effect upon Malfoy.

Lucius took the cup and inspected its curved flank, to which he awarded a curiously raised eyebrow.

Sev realized far too late that he had given Lucius his own **_Doomed Bunny_** mug. "Siouxsie gave that to me," he explained hastily, with the dismissive fondness of a very young man who'd recently acquired _An Admirer_ and couldn't do a thing with her.

"Ah," coughed Lucius, exactly like a cougar about to break cover and end a rabbit's worries.

Sev tried not to shiver, and made a really great show of calmly filling his old, worn mug with molasses and coffee. As the cup warmed the cracks began to show glowing crimson words in Gothic script: **_I am the Dark Lord, tremble now as your heartbeat quickens at my touch._**

Snape gulped down half his drink at once, nervously watching Lucius, who was sipping thoughtfully at his own elaborate libation.

Sev endured another relapse into desperate envy of people whose gleaming, cornsilken hair did **not** get stuck to their mugs.

Lucius intercepted Snape's jealous gaze, and considered him with unblinking scrutiny for some while before drawling, "You have to help me with Narcissa."

For one brief, shining, intensely hormonal moment, Sev thought he might be suggesting a **_Threesome._**

Snape's heart stopped long enough to put on its best suit and neaten up a bit.

Lucius sighed wearily, "Really, she's just _Impossible_ lately."

**_Are you dumping her?_** thought Sev, with a kind of horror finding himself ready to catch the rebound.

"All she does is sulk and pout," sulked Lucius, pouting. "She's been going on and on all week long about how I never _Listen_ to her, and I just don't _Understand_ her... really, she's said the same thing a hundred times and I _have_ got the gist of it," he complained. He took a long sip of his drink and then declared dismissively, "This simply can't continue."

Snape asked practically, "Then why don't you just listen to her?"

"Because she's _Hysterical._ And she's getting inconveniently inventive in her attempts to ensure my attention. Bellatrix taught her that curse of Inseam Reduction over the summer." Lucius scowled.

Sev grimaced sympathetically. Lucius had spent the first half of their last Charms class fidgeting frantically and the second half embroiling his roommates in a clandestine consultation about how to break the curse without aiming a wand at the _Afflicted Area._

"So... I need you to brew up something which will calm her down, for everyone's benefit." Malfoy's gleaming, grey eyes narrowed as he studied the walls of books concealing Snape's impressive stash of ingredients. "Prove it was worth my time and effort spent convincing Father to fund your unrestricted account at Borgia's Brews and Blends." Handing back the **_Doomed Bunny_** mug to its trembling owner, he snapped, "Be quick about it."

Without another word he left.

Silence filled the narrow bedchamber, like High Tide replenishing a pool hidden amongst sunbaked rocks. Snape felt the _Icky Jellyfish Thing_ hidden in his belly start unspooling stinging tentacles to fill his gut.

He drank the rest of his coffee, hoping to drown it and having no luck at all.

Filling his _Second Cup of the Day_ with a little more coffee and a tranquilizing dollop of rum, he watched apprehensively as his mug blazed with the words: **_I am the Dark Lord and you are in big trouble._**

Snape shuddered, and downed half the brew in one swig, wondering haplessly, **_Why_** _does **every **year I spend at this school get **worse?**_


	3. Chapter 3

Five words: _Chocolate Chip Cookie Cream Liqueur._

It really does exist!

Baked goods receipts to follow as they are developed...

_Jinx: _"I'm thinkin' **_Killer Blondies..."_**

If you've never tried one, a Blondie is like a Brownie, except that

it's made of yellow cake with chocolate or butterscotch chips baked in.

_rabbit: _(drooling) "I vote YES... but maybe we should call 'em **_Malfoys."_**

_Jinx: _"Hmm... 'The Malfoys are in my kitchen.' That sounds like _Trouble Waiting To Happen_, if you ask me."

_rabbit: _"Oh, no doubt, but it _could_ be worse... "

* * *

**It's No Picnic**

** Chapter 3**

On Sunday morning, the Slytherin Dormitory was exquisitely quiet, and the Fifth Years' floor doubly so.

This was directly attributable to Professor Keele's abrupt retirement at the end of the previous year. Her parting words had been stated crystal-clearly for the record: "If a handful of Fourth Years managed to destroy half the sheep paddock, a large chunk of Gryffindor Tower, most of the barn _and_ six acres of the Forbidden Forest in a single day's work, I am not staying around to see what they'll get up to when they're old enough to _really_ wreak havoc."

Her departure had led to the advent of Professor Slughorn's delightfully _laissez-faire_ regime, and its stunning transformation of Slytherin House into a Wildely exciting kind of _Nouvelle Versailles_ such as might be dreamt by an Absinthian dozing in the sheltering shadow of the _Moulin Rouge._

In tribute to Professor Keele, who had claimed she would sleep better at night knowing Order was being maintained, Slughorn had, with the Headmaster's full approval (and rather a Moreaunic delight), created a full dozen Prefects from amongst his Fifth, Sixth and Seventh Years. He had instructed his _Chosen_ not to trouble him with trivial matters, and with a wink and a nod had waved them about their business.

The House parties this year were **_Nothing Short Of Spectacular._**

So it had transpired that last night, the Fifth Year Prefects' bold attempt first to crash and then to break up the Seventh Years' boisterous **_Back-to-School Bash_** had, what with one thing and another (and _Yes, I Will Have Another, Thank You),_ resulted in Snape's brilliant capture from Titus Maingauche of the coveted title of _Mixed Drinks Master of Hogwarts._

Sev had swanned back to his own room in (and full of) _High Spirits,_ perfectionism having dictated frequent monitory sampling of everything he'd brewed up during the arduous contest. He had told the blinking budgerigar and his pillow sincerely that he loved them, and fainted.

Waking up was a **_Mistake._**

He felt absolutely oogy and knew that moving would make it twenty times **_Worse._**

But if he didn't move **_Soon_** he'd wind up wetting the bed and so he crawled out of his bookshell, and crawled to the washroom, and crawled back again, all of which took about twelve hours of his life.

Safely back in bed, he clutched the nearest wall of tomes for support, and after a very long while he found the hidden panel which allowed him access to his **_Emergency Supplies_**, a much-too-vividly-colored assortment which was lamentably lacking a bezoar. (He had used up his stash during his preparations for last year's Final Exams and had still not been able to bring himself to approach a goat, a barnyard, or any other grassy expanse whereupon sheep might congregate.) Near the back of the alcove full of brews and herbs was a jug labeled in very large, clear letters: _Hangover Hindrance. _He hefted it in both hands and resolutely drank its contents.

It was **_Nasty Stuff,_** even by his standards.

And he'd have to brew more.

_**Tomorrow. **When I can stand upright._

Carefully he settled the empty jug back into its space, and from the nearby tin selected a sprig of mint which he chewed in a half-hearted attempt to mask the aftertaste of rusty hobnails.

Then he crawled back to his pillow, which he still loved very much, and cocooned himself within his quilts, and passed out again.

When he regained consciousness, he was feeling just a little more Human, and all too well aware of _Necessary Alterations_ he must make to his receipt for Hangover Hindrance if he expected to survive the term. He struggled out of his swaddling and started searching for a quill so he could make notes. _First and foremost, I need to brew it a damned sight **stronger,** if I'm going to be involved with-_

A raven-tressed Witch, in an indigo bathrobe with a Prefect's badge pinned **_Just There_** at the close, was catcurled atop the rumpled bedclothes. Bellatrix Black was leafing through a dog-eared copy of **_The Necronomicon_** but watching Snape through half-closed, heavy-lidded eyes.

He thought: **_If she's been here since three in the morning, and I don't remember any of it I'll–_**

He didn't actually know what he would do, but testosterone provided the answer: **_–invent all the details._**

She lifted her head and shook her glorious mane, like a thoroughbred preparing to trample a mutt, and said in a voice that could launch a thousand ships, "I don't like you, Snape."

He thought, **_So this is it, I'm going to die._**

_**But What A Way To Go...**_

She curled her gleaming, ruby lip and demanded, "What's going on between you and my sister?"

Sev stared at her and began to shake with the realization that somehow or other he had wandered so deep into uncharted and perilous terrain that any moment now he might glimpse an Ivory-billed Woodpecker winging past.

Feeling just as endangered as that Swamp King, he tried to find his voice. If he could find his voice she might just hesitate before tearing out his throat with her teeth–

It was a lost cause. He let out a peep, like a still-damp chick.

This was disappointing. He'd always intended his last words to be **_I Told You So._**

Bellatrix sighed like a torch singer greeting the dawn, "You really are a contemptible creature. I can't imagine what 'Cissa sees in you."

Snape wondered wildly if she would just tear him apart and read his entrails to find out.

_"Well-?"_ snapped Bellatrix, like an executioner on a tight schedule.

Snape didn't feel very well at all, actually.

She curled her glistening, incarnadine lip again, showing white teeth and Sev really thought she might lunge. He discovered to his horror that if she did, he would hold still and greet his Fate.

But she simply sighed speculatively (causing _Door Number 3 _inside Snape's mind to fall off the hinges) and said, "My sister tells me you're helping her with a little problem."

When he only stared stupidly at her, she smirked and sneered, "Lucius Malfoy."

"Oh!" yelped Sev, suddenly and miserably remembering the promises he'd made, which had landed him in this perilous predicament. He cast about desperately for some way to explain himself. "Er..." he began, but beneath her jackal's gaze he could do no more than clear his throat repeatedly, with the dogged persistence of someone trying to restart an unresponsive vehicle pinned beneath a quarter-ton of bloody, crazed St. Bernard. "Er... Er... Err... Errrreally, I cannot speak of this," he heard himself say as he somehow made a lifesaving breakthrough into Mysterious Magniloquence, "for I must keep Narcissa's confidence in me."

The silence stretched like lampworked glass between them while Bellatrix scrutinized him as if judging whether such constrained nobility really suited him... or deciding whether to start with his liver or his sweetbreads.

Transfixed by the razor's gleam in her eyes, Snape recalled haplessly: _** Their whole damn family's crazy. **Of course, their Family Tree **could** be duplicated by an elaborately carved walking stick-_

Suddenly she laughed, loudly and exultantly.

Snape shuddered like a tod at bay, and found the wherewithal to scrunch himself into the nearest corner, where he awaited **_The End._**

She lunged. He saw just a glimpse of snowy cleavage which was unfortunately obliterated by **_A Bright, White Light._**

Bellatrix screeched like a scalded cat and then there was a terrific frenzy of motion accompanied by a stench of burnt hair.

As Sev's vision cleared, he realized that she was swiping frantically at the Blazing Budgerigar, which had alighted atop her head and started her hair to smouldering. Easily eluding her hands, Lucky Strike was hopping nonchalantly back and forth, setting patch-fires and twittering gleefully in counterpoint to her Furious shrieks.

With a howl of outrage she yielded the field, throwing Snape a glare which promised _Protracted and Innovative Murder_ as she dove for the crawlway and scrambled out of his bed.

Sev took the first deep breath that he'd managed all morning and thought miserably, **_That's TWO Witches now, who've bailed out of my bed._**

He hated hormones. They made you goofy and imprudent.

Lucky Strike chirruped in celebration of victory, and scribed scintillant spirals through the air before landing on Snape's shoulder and making the _Where-are-the-marshmallows? _sound.

There was a commotion in the crawlway and then Lucius Malfoy half-fell into the bed, pale and trembling. He was holding his hands oddly outspread before him; his fingers were shrouded in charred scraps of Crabbe's mittens, and laced with blisters. He looked wildly up at Snape and gasped,_ "Are you still **alive?"**_

Snape glanced at the bird, which cheeped approvingly. "So far," he replied.

Malfoy nodded shakily. "I heard Bella– " He shuddered, as if brushed by some awful memory. "She was _laughing– "_ He curled into a ball, hugging his knees and rocking back and forth as he moaned, "I had to save you– you don't know what she can _do– _ I sent the budgie– "

Snape wished for the umpteenth time that the Sorting Hat had put him into Ravenclaw, where they had Family Trees with branches.

Instead, here he was in _The Vipers' Pit,_ where all they could do was look out for one another.

Lucky Strike trilled brilliantly right into his ear and Snape hurried to provide a teacup full of marshmallows for his fiery defender, so that the bird would **_Shut Up For Just One Minute._**

He opened the panel hidden behind his pillow, and took out his First Aid kit. With some effort, he caught ahold of Malfoy's scorched hands, and by the flickering light of caramelizing marshmallows began cleaning and dressing them in salve-laden bandages, absently whistling in counterpoint to the bird's twittering while he worked. As he cinched the wrappings neatly into place he advised sternly, "Leave these on as long as you can, and **_Don't Pick At Them_** or you'll sacrifice some skin."

When Lucius nodded rather dazedly, Snape assumed Malfoy was now paying heed to what was being said, and despite a drowning sense of dread Sev had to say honorably, "Thanks, Luke, I owe you one."

"I told you to call me Lucius," Malfoy replied coolly, "and yes, you do."


	4. Chapter 4

_Sev (rather resignedly): _"So, shall we suppose that this _Extensive Expository Excursion _must lead inevitably to monstrous, mindboggling mayhem?"

_Lucius (very doomedly):_ "Did you **read** Book 6?"

**It's No Picnic**

**Chapter 4**

* * *

On Monday morning, Snape (who was snugly wrapped within five quilts and an extra-fluffy pair of Earmuffles in hopes of not hearing his fiery-feathered friend's _Dawnlight Sonata) _was alarmingly awakened by a bookslide and when he scrambled clear of the downspilled tomes, he discovered Crabbe and Goyle crammed into bed with him. He was thankful that they were wearing their uniforms and concerned that they were flanking him like a pair of pit bulls about to fall upon a leg of mutton. 

Goyle grabbed him by the collar and shook him right out of his Earmuffles so that Sev could hear Crabbe growl menacingly, "What've you got in here that's so good _Witches_ sneak in?"

A dozen flip answers darted across Snape's sleep-hazed mind, but four years of being beaten up _had_ instilled in him a life-preserving habit of _Editing Responses for General Audiences_ and he coughed, "Lemme go and I'll show you."

Upon release, he squeezed past his interrogators and with both hands hauled open a large panel in one of the volume-inous walls, revealing a very nicely equipped miniature bar.

Crabbe grinned and affably punched Goyle's shoulder, proclaiming triumphantly, "I told you it had to be something out of a bottle. Pay up."

Goyle dug into his pocket and did so, gazing at the intoxicating array with the woebegone air of a Fifth Year who hadn't had the leverage of a Prefect's badge or the looks to gain him admission to the weekend's rumor-sparking revels. He asked, in the voice of a hungry orphan upholding a scraped bowl to aninscrutable_ Higher Power_, "Can we try some?"

Snape blinked at him in surprise. A moment later his brain caught up with current events and he realized with glee that _The Lure of the Legally Forbidden_ had overcome the curtailing caution which had so often impeded his experiments upon his roommates. He grinned, deftly crafted a pair of Zombies, and sent them on their way in perfect confidence that even if they made it to class they wouldn't be able to remember who had served them (or their own names).

Entranced by the **_Endless Possibilities _**suddenly spreading before him, Snape whistled cheerfully to himself as he set his coffee a-brewing and began to sort out the bookslide. In the middle of the muddle, as he hefted his battered copy of_ Dumbledore's Revised Rules for Chess On Many Levels, _this oft-consulted tome let slip a little, lavender pamphlet entitled in scintillant scrollwork, _A Bubbling Cauldron: A Young Witch's Guide to Developing Magick. _

Under ordinary circumstances Sev would have classified this sort of thing as _Third-rate Tinder,_ but considering his promise to Narcissa, he felt he should at least flip through the pink, perfumed pages. These were populated by winsome, wasp-waisted Witches wearing white aprons and even whiter smiles. He was appalled to find one proudly presenting a cauldron full of fondue to what supposedly were her delighted dinnerguests.

On the next page, she was standing at a sink, surrounded by bubbles containing miniature charwomen, and the stupid sorceress was actually _singing along_ with their chorus as she cheerfully scoured her cheese-encrusted cauldron.

Snape turned back to the Table of Contents, which offered him his choice of:

_Chapter One: Magickal Changes and Your Changing Magick_

_Chapter Two: The Benefits of Bathing_

_Chapter Three: Simple Social Spellcasting_

_Chapter Four: Working Your Wiles on Wizards_

_Chapter Five: Using Caution When Handling a Wand_

_Chapter Six: Moon Phases and Mood Swings_

_Chapter Seven: What to Do When He Won't Listen to You_

Sev wrenched the book open to **_Salvation_** and eagerly scanned the pages.

There were ten of them and all of these were filled with insipid quizzes about _Your True Feelings _(which were marked up with four different colors of ink blotched by tearstains) and laughable theories as to _What He's **Really** Thinking About _(not one of which mentioned Sev's main concerns: _**SEX,** How to Avoid Being Laughed At and Beaten Up So Often, Becoming a Legend _and _**When** Will I Stop Bashing My Elbows and Knees into Absolutely **Everything?)**_

He cast the book aside contemptuously and turned back to his Muggle Studies manual, which was only slightly less incomprehensible. (He had explained his interest in this subject by insisting to Lucius that it was best to know _What We're Up Against,_ without mentioning the inconvenient little detail of just whom he'd like to be **_Up Against.) _**

Since it was Monday (which starts with _M_ which stands for _Marauders __Missing Mayhem_ all weekend long while their favorite target stayed shut away in the Slytherin Dormitory), he added a heaping tablespoonful of coca powder to his cup and tried not to be bothered by the inscription which now said: **_I am the Dark Lord and given the trouble you get into when your brain is functioning... "normally," I suggest that subjecting yourself to mind-altering essences will only exponentially exacerbate your present difficulties._**


	5. Chapter 5

* * *

With thanks to Herman Melville for the quotes. (And chocolate chip cookie making elves everywhere.) And of course, JK Rowling, to whom we owe everything. Please don't send the lawyers... 

rabbit and jinx

* * *

"_Unconsciously my chirography expands into placard capitals. Give me a condor's quill! Give me Vesuvius' crater for an inkstand! Friends, hold my arms! For... my thoughts... they weary me, and make me faint with their outreaching comprehensiveness of sweep... "_

– _Ishmael_

* * *

**It's No Picnic**

**Chapter 5**

What everyone said was true: Fifth Year really was **_Different._**

To Snape's complete bewilderment, another Friday night had presented him with **_A Very Full Social Schedule _**which had included, in whitewater rapid succession: bartending at another boisterous bash, dashing like Danceny back and forth between Lucius and Narcissa (the pair of whom had graciously _Agreed to Argue_), subsequently struggling throughout the wee hours to reduce a mountain of homework to a manageable molehill, and falling into a frightmare wherein a Hitchcockamamie flock of origami O.W.L.S. chased him into the Forbidden Forest and brought him to bay in a moonlit hollow where he discovered to his horror that he'd lost his wand and in his pockets had only a needle, some thread and a handful of sawdust–

It was **_Nothing Short Of Rescue_** when the brilliant trilling of the Blazing Budgerigar sank like a hundred bright, shiny, little hooks into the murky depths of Sev's swamped brain, and snagged him and dragged him back to consciousness.

He prised his nose out of his mystifying Muggle Studies manual, pried the pages loose from his hair, and scrambled out of his nest of leafpiled parchments and butterflied books, struggling towards the sound of **_The Blasted Bird _**which he found perched placidly upon the rim of a cup of cocoa piled high with multicolored miniature marshmallows.

This cup was held by **_The Headmaster._**

Dumbledore was wearing a fluffy, flowered dressing-gown and fuzzy, fuchsia bunny slippers; he was seated comfortably cross-legged amidst a heavy accumulation of books, serenely sipping cocoa whenever the bird threw back its head to gulp another marshmallow. As Sev watched in dismay, the Headmaster chuckled and peered curiously at the battered copy of _Advanced Potion-Making_ which he now upheld to the available avian illumination, in such a manner that one might almost suspect him to be candling the book.

Snape discovered that in a **_Real Crisis_** he didn't need one drop of coffee to become totally alert.

In dismay he met Dumbledore's twinkling blue eyes and thought wildly, **_So this is it, I'm going to be expelled._**

He had only a moment to wonder how the Marauders had managed it, and then the Headmaster smiled at him and shook his head, atop which was slouched a knobbly, bobbled nightcap. "No, Severus, you are not going to be expelled," Dumbledore said in what _Someone Somewhere Else _might have considered a soothing tone. "I'm happy to remind you that you've left school."

"...Huh?" uttered Sev.

A moment later Snape realized with horror: **_He can read my mind._**

"Well, yes," agreed the Headmaster, rather radiantly, "and I must say, it's a ripping good read... it puts me in mind of a magnificent melange of Machiavelli and Melville." He sighed as if satisfied, and sipped his cocoa, and said solicitously, "I just popped into your head for a moment to find out how you were faring."

The _Icky Jellyfish Thing _unfurled its tentacles to fill Sev's belly again.

Dumbledore waved his hand and within his gnarled grasp appeared Sev's old, cracked mug, brimming with hot chocolate and overfluffed with marshmallows. The Headmaster pressed this into Snape's hands with the kindly exhortation, "Drink this, it'll help."

Sev got a two-handed, white-knuckled grip on the mug and tried to be subtle about nervously inspecting the cracks, which were showing bright white but saying nothing against the black glaze. When he dared to look again at Dumbledore, the Headmaster was smiling sympathetically.

Dumbledore said softly, "I'm not really surprised to find you sick in bed. Anyone would be, after all that excitement of enacting... our extraordinary experiment... and then sprinting a mile through a raging battle, before being mauled by a hysterical hippogriff."

"...Huh?" gulped Sev, staring at the Headmaster and wondering if the dodgy old codger had finally **_Lost His Mind Completely._**

"No, no," Dumbledore assured him amiably, "I'm just visiting yours, seeing how you're curled up into a snug little ball inside your own head– a reasonable reaction, to what I surmise was rather a risky use of Wrings-It-Out-Of-You Remedy taken to effect a rapid recovery from your injuries. I'm guessing you must have drunk nearly a pint-"

"A **_pint _**would do everything short of turn your **_skin_** inside-out!" Sev protested caustically. "Only a _madman_ would drink that much of it!"

"Or someone who's crazy like a fox." Dumbledore smiled conspiratorially at Snape, who didn't smile back, and then at the burning budgie, who trilled merrily and winked at the Headmaster.

The _Icky Jellyfish Thing_ got bigger inside Snape's belly. He began to wonder if he were going to throw up.

"It might do you some good," Dumbledore said soothingly. He leaned closer and his half-moon glasses glinted like mirror shards as he scrutinized Snape and advised sternly, "You'd also do well to abandon all this accumulated **_Adolescent Angst,_** while you're about it."

Sev stared at him in bewilderment. He had _Absolutely No Clue_ how one might rid oneself of **_Adolescent Angst _**and only the vaguest, hopeful assumption that one broke free of it (rather like a butterfly emerging **_At Last _**from a stifling cocoon) upon turning Twenty.

"Well, for a start," said Dumbledore shrewdly, still staring all the way into Sev's eyes, "you'd best be very careful in your dealings with Malfoy and company... and strive not to succumb to their, er, more insidious influences." The Headmaster couldn't quite conceal a small smile as he went on, "For instance, I've noticed that, in your decidedly dazed state, you are developing an _Invidious Inclination Towards Impassioned Italicization, _which will not serve you well in future endeavors."

Sev, who had developed the dialect in sheer self-defense whilst spending the summer at Malfoy Manor, said nothing. He did, however, note with resentment that the old man apparently approved of _All-encompassing Alliteration._

"You must be wary, Severus," Dumbledore warned, with a twinkle in his searchlight eyes, "lest you should slip altogether into a CACOPHONOUS CONDITION OF CAPITALIZATION, wherein it will seem as if you are shouting ALL THE TIME and whereby everyone will feel perfectly entitled to IGNORE you."

Sev again didn't answer, feeling it just **_Wouldn't Go Well_.**

Dumbledore smiled solicitously, and said in a voice as soft as wool, "Speaking of things not going so well... as you are disentangling yourself from all your teenaged torments, you really should find a better way to handle animals which are too large to dunk into a cauldron."

"That's what cleavers are for," bristled Sev.

"Yes, well, in case you haven't one handy just when a sheep or a three-headed dog or a highly offended hippogriff or a twelve-foot serpentine horcrux turns on you with murder in its eyes," the Headmaster advised, "you might want to have another approach in mind." He frowned, and added frankly, "I honestly can't recommend your reliance upon Legilimency, since all that does is make you absolutely sure the beast intends to kill you instantly."

"...right," faltered Sev. "Sure."

"Well," sighed Dumbledore wearily, "I've enjoyed our little chat, but I really must be going, I've a lot I've got to do... good luck, Severus," he said warmly, "and keep up the Great Work." He gently shooed the burning bird onto Snape's arm and vanished, leaving behind a storm's-end silence and a tidy stack of bookmarked tomes topped by a mugful of melted marshmallows, which the budgie promptly appropriated.

Sev glared resentfully at the feasting firebird, which ignored him until it was finished, and then threw back its flamewreathed head and warbled the last bit of the _1812 Overture_ before bursting apart in a chrysanthemum bloom of vermilion sparks.

Coughing out smoke and blinking away green spots, Sev recovered from his shock to discover an extraordinarily ugly chick peeping softly at him from the rumpled folds of his quilts. The tiny, hideous thing was glowing like a horseshoe nail in the heart of a forge.

As his brain caught up with current events, Sev cast aside his empty mug and whirled 'round and fumbled a teapot out of its hidden storage space; hastily he scooped the incandescent chick into the pot's ceramic confines.

After some thought (and some serious second thoughts) he put a handful of straw into the teapot so that the bird would be more comfortable. He just got his fingers out in time, before all of the tinder lit. In the resultant cozy glow, Sev could see the chick huddled cheeping contentedly amidst the conflagration.

He set the teapot onto a trivet and searched through several books on _Avian Accommodations, _cross-checking the facts twice before rather reluctantly adding some patchouli to the blaze, which made the bird coo delightedly. Encouraged, Snape looked through three more volumes before deciding to risk poking a few scrolled scraps ofcinnamon into the teapot; to his great relief the bird ate these with all the gusto of a diner presented with _Complimentary Breadsticks._

Much reassured, Sev popped a loose bundle of broomstraws into the teapot and gently resettled it within the safety of the brick oven. Only then did he dare to huddle under his quilts, and hug his pillow, and wait for his heartbeat to slow down to its normal cadence... or for the **_Ghost of Christmas Future _**to drop by for a spot of tea...

Moments later he was being shaken like a Mai-Tai and his Earmuffles were being torn away by Lucius, who was shouting impatiently, "_Wake **up,** Sev!"_ Malfoy was brandishing a battered copy of _Advanced Potion-Making _as he declared delightedly, "**I've found the answer!"**

The _Icky Jellyfish Thing _in Sev's belly took up clog dancing.

Malfoy swatted Snape's nose with the book and snapped, "_Pay attention!"_

Snape snatched at the text, lost ahold of it, and could only curl up miserably into his quilts as Lucius pinned him down with one knee and opened the frayed volume to read aloud with keen interest: "_Teddybear Tea_ infuses its imbiber with an unsurpassable serenity, which reliable accounts variously describe as: 'a boundless optimism like that of the sunrise,' 'a wondering delight in all the World,' and 'an abiding certainty of being safe in the care of one who loves you **_Best, Most and Always."_**

Lucius grinned with a lot of white perfect pointy teeth at Snape.

Who supposed he could get quite a lot of studying done during the next fortnight or so, while he recovered in the Infirmary. When he was lucid, Madame Pomfrey usually let him have the bed in the corner, beside the bookcases.

Malfoy declared exultantly, "It's **_Perfect!_** We'll give some to Narcissa, and she'll become _A_ _Paragon of Placidity." _Lucius sighed in real relief, "She'll stop whining, and sulking, and distracting me from more important matters!"

Sev had spent a lot of time covertly observing teenaged girls and he thought this was very unlikely even in the best of circumstances.

Which these weren't. "It won't work, Luke."

"_Lucius,"_ Malfoy corrected him sharply. "**_Why not?"_**

Sev said very carefully, "First of all, I haven't got any Teddybear Tea-"

"Then brew some!"

Snape had to admit bitterly, "I can't." He hastened to explain, "Only the bears themselves can concoct it properly."

"**_You must be joking!"_** snapped Malfoy. "You've got ingredients stashed away in here which could get you slung into Azkaban," he asserted approvingly. "If little bears with their heads full of fluff can brew it, **YOU** certainly can... even with your wits addled by whatever you've poured into yourself **_This Time." _**He dragged Sev onto his knees, so that they were almost nose to nose, and glared at him, declaring in the tones of a Potions Master who would hear no excuses: "I want a teapot full of Teddybear Tea, piping hot, on my desk, at four o'clock today."

Logic trumped Threats and Sev had to say again, with diamondcutting precision, "_Only _the bears themselves can brew that tea." Self-preservation prompted him to add quickly, "Before you get any bright ideas about finding a bear and forcing it to fix you a thimbleful of tea, let me tell you that the beasts only give the tea to lads under the age of eight who've skinned _both_ knees," Snape recited relentlessly, "or to weeping lasses who've cut themselves on little bits of broken heart."

Lucius laughed triumphantly.

Snape wished he were old enough to Apparate.

"Well, that simplifies matters nicely," Lucius proclaimed.

Snape began to shake, like a leaf bestirred by a giraffe's breath.

Malfoy pronounced with the condescending commiseration of one reading out _The Sentence _to **_The Condemned_,** "I'll have a little tiff with Narcissa, and naturally she will be **_Heartbroken,_** and the bear will- does she _have_ a teddybear?"

"_How in **Hell** would **I** know!" _yelped Sev, breaking into a cold sweat.

Fortunately, Lucius laughed. "Well, we can't use _mine,_ that's for certain."

Lucius had never had a teddybear, which his roommates privately presumed had led during their First Year to his **_Precociously Perilous_** **_Paroxysm of Pre-Adolescent Pique _**which had shredded the bedcurtains, cracked the mantelpiece, splintered the antique chairs, and created such a lingering **_Malaise_** that three teddybears, one shabby velveteen rabbit, and sobbing little Hugh Fortinbras had fled into the dark and stormy night.

None of them had ever been seen again. The next morning, Malfoy had gotten a note of congratulations from Peeves and a detention from the Headmaster, the nature of which Lucius still wouldn't discuss to this day.

He had also acquired a taste for real **_Power_** and now Malfoy's gray eyes held a corvine gleam as he decided, "I'll have Crabbe and Goyle get a teddybear from one of the First Years."

Snape stared at him, as if studying a snake's markings to determine how quickly it might kill him. At last he had to venture faintly, "You don't really believe a teddybear would willingly be taken from its owner, do you?"

Lucius shrugged unconcernedly. "The lumps will _Convince _it– "

"They can't possibly!" gritted Snape, through teeth clenched as if clinging to Reason's hem. Glaring at Malfoy he growled, "Do you understand that, although these _are_ small animals, they are nonetheless **_bears,_** possessed of an alarming array of claws and teeth?"

Malfoy scoffed at this.

Snape surged on, "Any attempt to abduct a teddybear would be answered by a frenzy of furry fury!" With a shudder, he reflexively hauled out his First Aid kit and commenced compulsively checking its contents. (Everything was there, except a bezoar.) Sev gulped and said, "You really _don't_ want to tangle with a teddybear... I'm telling you, they take _one look_ at you and they just **_know,_** instinctively, where **_all_** your soft spots are... "

"You've done this before," Lucius said shrewdly, studying Snape.

Sev shuddered. "**_Won't do it again," _**he vowed.

A silence unfurled, like smoke blanketing a battlefield.

Lucius said at last, in perilously _Reasonable_ tones: "Taking into account your helpfully offered insights into the situation, I have abandoned the idea of simply appropriating a teddybear, in favor of a more prudent course of action."

He smiled beatifically at Sev, who froze like a deer caught by headlights.

Lucius informed him, "I know you keep Polyjuice Potion handy in hopes it might somehow help you to actually _Get A Date_. You will drink some today and impersonate one of the First Year girls, whose teddybear you will sobbingly convince to concoct a nice cup of tea to solace you in your **_Abject Misery."_** His smile grew vulpine as he decreed, "You will ensure that Narcissa drinks the tea, and by nightfall **_All Will Be Well."_**

He released Snape with the simple command, "**_Get on with it!"_**

Sev, feeling **_Absolutely Doomed,_ **stalled for time. "All right, yes, but _Just To Be Safe _I really should recheck a couple of facts, first, concerning the bears," he muttered, ootching past Malfoy to select volumes from the walls and bookstacks, the tallest of which he contrived to collapse.

As expected, Lucius dextrously evaded the mess and promptly distanced himself from the debacle, leaving through the crawlway with the stern warning, "_Don't be long, Sev."_

"Shan't," Snape averred, briskly turning pages. His knowledge of teddybears _was_ somewhat patchy, due to his unanticipated and unforgettable ursine **_Learning Experience_** as well as never having had a teddybear himself. (He had come to school with a secondhand, scorchmarked velveteen rabbit, which had been an excellent listener and _Very Understanding_ as its hapless owner had gradually become shabbier and more beat-up than the bunny.)

(Sev blamed Lucius entirely for the rabbit's flight into the _Unknown. _If Malfoy had not pitched such an epic fit on that dark and stormy night, Mr. Blisters might have stayed and Snape might not have cried himself to sleep all those nights thereafter until he'd discovered **_Coffee_** as a Third Year and promptly given up sleeping more than **_Absolutely Necessary _**as he'd embarked upon his ongoing quest to properly brew Up-All-Night Potion.)

It was at moments like these, when Sev felt that _The_ _Hand of Fate_ was **_not_** upholding a Victory sign to him, that he found he still missed Mr. Blisters.

But his charred confidante was gone and there was _Nothing Else For It Now _but to **_Act Like An Adult _**and carry on seeking **_Poe-worthy Justice_** sustained by hopes of wreaking vengeance upon all who had done him **_WRONG-_**

The remainder of the bookstack beside him collapsed, filling his lap with butterflied volumes, the topmost of which fell open to display a passage underscored in red:

"**...moody, stricken Ahab stood before them,**

**with a crucifixion in his face; in all the nameless**

**regal overbearing dignity of some mighty woe."**

Beside this, in the margin, someone had scribbled in what Snape recognized all too well from his Disciplinary Reports as the Headmaster's handwriting: _Keep up the Great Work and don't dwell in the past... and for Goodness' sake **use extreme caution when confronting animals!"**_

The _Icky Jellyfish Thing_ in Sev's belly turned white.

Crabbe said from right behind him, "Lucius says **_Time's Up, Genius_**." He seized Snape and dragged him out of bed, ignoring the teapot's shrill whistle of alarm.


End file.
